I have cake.
I have a delicious cake.
I have a delicious mountain of cake.
Really, the thing looks like a designer said, "I'm thinking...volcano! In German Chocolate!"
It is SOOOO delicious.
It is also rather...large. To the point where I'm certain that my dorm was not the best one to bring it back to, because there are not enough people who live here to ensure that this will be consumed by the end of the week.
My dear Rachel ALSO has cake. She has the vanilla side of this. We half-seriously considered pranking Signscout with it, because the boy absolutely loves food. Really. Almost any girl has to take it for granted that he will love certain foods more than her. Any girl with a bit of intelligence on this one will put two and two together, and make a point of being able to make said foods. Signscout will be her willing slave.
Anyway, Rachel is quite possibly the epitome of kindness and responsibility. Everyone loves Rachel. And most of the RA's know that Signscout and I are buddies. So, we're reasonably certain that we could track down an RA who would allow either or both of us into his room for the purpose of tastefully arranging cake. Not making a mess - just making it look like he had a birthday party for seven penguins or something.
He would, of course, have to kill me. Rachel's still off-limits. The best friend can be cheerfully murdered at any time - unless it's someone else doing the murdering. It's a peculiar system. You destroy anyone who threatens the friend, because, y'know, that's what you do for your friends. You also have the constant and unspoken right to try to kill your best friend, because, well, you love 'em.
So. I have cake. And I don't care who eats it, as long as it is enjoyed and that right soon. If you wish, I have plates and forks. As of tomorrow, I will probably even have milk to go with it.
This is the sort of party invitation that would read, "I demand that you show up and eat my food!"
food
